


You’re on Fire, Babe

by scorose



Series: Take Me to Outer Space [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, F/M, Feelings, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts Era, Snogging, Weasley twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorose/pseuds/scorose
Summary: For now, George didn’t want to focus on confusing matters clogging the back of his brain. He instead wanted to focus on the feel of Maggie’s hands sliding slowly up the plane of his chest, fingers curling around his shoulders, gripping at the muscles there; her head against the bricks, tilted back, her lips on a slow exploration up his jaw.George, Maggie, and the Astronomy tower.
Relationships: George Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Take Me to Outer Space [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961131
Kudos: 27





	You’re on Fire, Babe

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the lovely reviews on the oneshots I’ve posted thus far; I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to any of you individually but I appreciate the kind words and kudos.
> 
> I’ve been listening to Electric by Alina Baraz and Khalid when I write George and Maggie, and it’s such a lovely song, I’d recommend giving it a listen!

She was always warm, George mused to himself, pressing Maggie’s small frame back against the stone wall of the empty astronomy tower, _so warm_. It was such a bloody cliche, sneaking off under the cover of night; George didn’t know why he’d even bothered fibbing to Fred about his whereabouts, for his twin knew him better than anyone else and had smirked knowingly at the sight of him creeping out of the sixth year Gryffindor boys’ dormitory at nearly midnight the first night of term. And he was meeting the person who knew him the second best, it seemed anymore, albeit in an entirely different way. Whereas Fred could finish his thoughts and sentences, Maggie had nearly successfully unravelled every thread of George’s sanity with a simple touch. The two sought each other out for companionship and comfort of the physical sort - and Merlin, had it been a long summer. George had been tempted to owl her at several points - especially following the events of the Quidditch World Cup - but he talked himself out of it before he could put his quill to parchment. Their preferred communication was generally of the nonverbal variety; Maggie had always said hi and grinned at him cheekily outside of their handful of snogging sessions at the end of his fifth year, but otherwise she treated George like just about anyone else… which was slowly serving to drive him completely mad, but that was another affair entirely.

For now, George didn’t want to focus on confusing matters clogging the back of his brain. He instead wanted to focus on the feel of Maggie’s hands sliding slowly up the plane of his chest, fingers curling around his shoulders, gripping at the muscles there; her head against the bricks, tilted back, her lips on a slow exploration up his jaw. She nipped once at the hinge where his jaw met his neck and George grunted, hips thrusting against hers involuntarily; Maggie giggled low in his ear and switched tac, placing warm, open-mouthed kisses down his throat, her breath raising goosebumps across his skin.

“Missed you,” she mumbled against his throat, and George tilted his head down to capture her lips in a searing kiss, pressing her back into the wall, their bodies flush against one another. George gripped at Maggie’s bum, lining their hips up to grind against her once again, more purposefully this time; he let out a broken moan into her mouth. Maggie nibbled at his lower lip in response, soothing the bite immediately with her tongue.

She lowered one hand back down over his chest, dragging her fingers over the muscles of his abdomen, before tucking her fingers up underneath the hem of his sweater to glide over his bare skin; George realized in that moment how flushed he felt despite the chill of the open tower. Maggie trailed her fingers up over his stomach, then - he twitched at the tickling sensation - and over his hip, pressing her palm gently against his back. She repeated the motion with her other hand, and George broke the kiss, shivering at the sudden gust of wind against his bare skin; she had worked his sweater halfway up his back, exposing him to the breeze.

“It’s too cold for that,” he mumbled against her cheek.

“Spoil sport,” she replied good naturedly, scratching him gently with a fingernail as she withdrew her hand, sending another violent shiver up his spine. “You know,” she added after pressing an affectionate kiss to the hollow of his throat, “we didn’t need to sneak all the way up here for this. We happen to have access to a perfectly good common room, one with a fire -” She pressed another peck to his chin. “- loads of cushions -” A small nip at his jaw. “- and no sneaking about.”

“I’m tired of… an audience,” George admitted, trying to focus on his present train of thought; Maggie could be awfully distracting when she wanted, a fact she seemed very well aware of as she placed tender kisses at his pulse point. 

It had become a habit of theirs, it seemed, though not a conscious one, to have these public displays of affection. “You can’t just keep snogging her in the sodding common room, mate,” Fred had told him frankly after they’d been caught last, at the end of their fifth year. “People will think you’ve gone quite mad, and since we share a face and I’m known for having better game, people will confuse you with me, and _I’ve_ got a reputation to uphold.”

“I’m sure Angelina doesn’t care either way,” George had replied without looking up, knowing Fred’s face would turn puce and his cheek would twitch, but he’d bite back any retort he could think up because George had a point. And that was the end of the discussion. 

Truth be told, George hadn’t spared that conversation much thought, until after the start of term feast, when Maggie had brushed past him on the way up the stairs, her hand brushing down his arm teasingly, blazing a trail of fire from shoulder to wrist, and George’s good sense had Disapparated. Well, all but perhaps an ounce of sense, and that little bit left had composed a note, bewitched it into a paper aeroplane, and sent it up to the fifth year girls’ dormitory to arrange a meeting later that night. George knew he would be, once again, a source of giggles and gossip among Maggie and the Gryffindor girls sharing a living space with her, but at the moment - as her lips danced across his throat - it no longer felt like a grave concern.

“I just… wanted…” George continued, voice strained as he tried to focus on his train of thought. “...just you and me, nobody peeping, teasing… thinking…” He trailed off.

“Thinking?” Maggie repeated after a beat, pulling back to gaze up at him. The moon was bright and almost full and the sky was clear, affording them plenty of light. Maggie’s eyes shone in the pale glow, and George sucked in a shallow breath, mulling over how to answer her properly.

Hogwarts held many students with many opinions, good and bad, and certain students gained certain reputations, deserved or not. He’d already been caught kissing Maggie by… well, several others, a handful of times - it had almost become a running joke, anymore, that she and George were bound to be caught and so they didn’t try to hide. And while Fred and Lee continued to jeer at him, George knew it was all in good fun; as irritating as George found it that they constantly took the mickey out of him, at least where Maggie was concerned, it was never mean-spirited. George reckoned they were even cheering him on. Others, however, had witnessed their very first kiss after Gryffindor’s quidditch cup win the previous school year. And George knew that while most of the Gryffindor boys that had seen it likely thought of him as a regular stud, bold as Godric Gryffindor himself, Maggie might just be viewed in a different light following the events of his bet with Fred. Maggie had a fantastic group of friends in her year - Priya Taja, Katie Bell, and Leanne Summers were both supportive of her and defensive towards anyone with a negative word against her - but the thought of Maggie having some sort of negative reputation at the result of his actions made his stomach clench a little bit. He mentally dared anyone to call her a slag or slander her in his presence. Though never violent, George could feel his blood boil at the thought - that kind of talk wouldn’t be tolerated if he could help it. What he and Maggie had was just fun, innocent snogging.

That was it.

 _Right_.

There was the other complication. As George slid his hands slowly up and down Maggie’s arms, he mulled over this protective sense that he’d started to form for her. The way he’d craved her company, how after the Quidditch World Cup, after seeing his family to safety, he’d nearly gone mental with worry, agonizing over his memory of spotting her in the crowd at the campsite, unsure as to whether or not she had escaped safely from the Death Eaters. The relief he’d felt upon seeing her on Platform 9 ¾ was enough to nearly bring George to his knees, right there on the train; he’d sagged into his seat with relief after spying her out the window, like a weight had come off his shoulders - not that he’d had his nose against the glass watching for her, or anything. That would have been stupid. And George _wasn’t_ stupid. Maggie was his friend. Sort of. That was normal for just a friend. And that’s all Maggie was.

“Thinking,” he finally said, pasting a casual grin on his face, “they can play audience to some super hot snogging.”

Maggie swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “Cheeky bugger,” she admonished affectionately, but her eyebrows furrowed slightly; she gave him a searching look, on par with Professor McGonagall, before pressing a searing kiss to his lips. “C’mon, love,” she said softly, taking his hand and winding her fingers through his, giving him a little tug in the direction of the winding staircase, “let’s go back, and sit by the fire.”


End file.
